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Is Religion Like Packing A Bag?
On his way to a business conference in Canada, my dearest childhood friend stopped in New York City to visit me and meet my family for the first time. As kids, we were inseparable and shared not only our “stuff” but our religious beliefs too. We grew up in a small community in Melbourne and both attended the same Jewish day school where the fear of God was instilled as far back as my memory can extend. Everyone was on the same religious page and those who weren’t were “meshigeh”—or so we thought. In the years since our epic cricket matches in his front lawn, much had stayed the same but a lot had changed too. He now lives in South Africa with his wife and three kids. I now live in New York with my wife and three kids. He sends his kids to a Jewish day school. I send my kids to a Jewish day school. He still harbors a guilty conscience about leaving “home” (courtesy of his mother) and so do I. However during his visit it became apparent that our once intertwined religious views were no longer in sync. He remains steadfastly devout, whereas I have become critical of positions I once held as absolute truths. As we discussed our diverging theological beliefs I found myself dubious of his reasons for keeping the faith yet understood that these discussions often go unresolved. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder why, with the passage of time, life experience and maturity he still so proudly embraced blind faith as a way of life. Critical examination of his Jewish identity clearly wasn’t something he was down with. But why? I mean it’s not as though religion doesn’t beg a little critique, let alone a lifelong struggle. After a day spent cycling through Central Park, sipping lattes downtown and ingratiating himself to my kids, he began packing his bags in anticipation of his 7:00AM flight the next morning. Knowing that he’d be returning to New York after the conference, I offered him a small bag that would accommodate enough clothes for the three-day trip and avoid him having to check-in any luggage. I watched as he began stuffing the bag with what appeared to be a months’ worth of clothes. “Do you really need six dress shirts?” I asked. “Yes” he responded. “And five t-shirts?” I continued. “Yes” he answered. “It’ll be cold in Canada. I doubt you need to bring those shorts” I suggested. “Just in case” he replied, clearly not appreciating the sacrifices that come with traveling light. Eventually he decided that the small bag wasn’t going to fly. Instead he opted to travel with the same bulky suitcase he’d arrived with. The next morning I awoke at 5:00AM to say my farewells and give him one last hug. As he walked out the door with his small caravan of overstuffed bags I wondered if his approach to packing was the same as his approach to religion. He couldn’t discard any of the things he arrived with because hey, you never know. But wouldn’t traveling with less make his journey easier? Force him to be more resourceful? Didn’t it just make more sense? Maybe not.
On his way to a business conference in Canada, my dearest childhood friend stopped in New York City to visit me and meet my family for the first time. As kids, we were inseparable and shared not only our “stuff” but our religious beliefs too. We grew up in a small community in Melbourne and both attended the same Jewish day school where the fear of God was instilled as far back as my memory can extend. Everyone was on the same religious page and those who weren’t were “meshigeh”—or so we thought. In the years since our epic cricket matches in his front lawn, much had stayed the same but a lot had changed too. He now lives in South Africa with his wife and three kids. I now live in New York with my wife and three kids. He sends his kids to a Jewish day school. I send my kids to a Jewish day school. He still harbors a guilty conscience about leaving “home” (courtesy of his mother) and so do I. However during his visit it became apparent that our once intertwined religious views were no longer in sync. He remains steadfastly devout, whereas I have become critical of positions I once held as absolute truths. As we discussed our diverging theological beliefs I found myself dubious of his reasons for keeping the faith yet understood that these discussions often go unresolved. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder why, with the passage of time, life experience and maturity he still so proudly embraced blind faith as a way of life. Critical examination of his Jewish identity clearly wasn’t something he was down with. But why? I mean it’s not as though religion doesn’t beg a little critique, let alone a lifelong struggle. After a day spent cycling through Central Park, sipping lattes downtown and ingratiating himself to my kids, he began packing his bags in anticipation of his 7:00AM flight the next morning. Knowing that he’d be returning to New York after the conference, I offered him a small bag that would accommodate enough clothes for the three-day trip and avoid him having to check-in any luggage. I watched as he began stuffing the bag with what appeared to be a months’ worth of clothes. “Do you really need six dress shirts?” I asked. “Yes” he responded. “And five t-shirts?” I continued. “Yes” he answered. “It’ll be cold in Canada. I doubt you need to bring those shorts” I suggested. “Just in case” he replied, clearly not appreciating the sacrifices that come with traveling light. Eventually he decided that the small bag wasn’t going to fly. Instead he opted to travel with the same bulky suitcase he’d arrived with. The next morning I awoke at 5:00AM to say my farewells and give him one last hug. As he walked out the door with his small caravan of overstuffed bags I wondered if his approach to packing was the same as his approach to religion. He couldn’t discard any of the things he arrived with because hey, you never know. But wouldn’t traveling with less make his journey easier? Force him to be more resourceful? Didn’t it just make more sense? Maybe not.
